A Study in Scarlet
by WhereTheMildThingsAre
Summary: When sixteen-year-old John Watson transfers to the prestigious Diogenes Academy, he's in for more than he bargained for. With Sherlock Holmes as a room mate and a strange crime sweeping the campus, his new school-life will be anything but ordinary!


My, my, my! It's been quite a while, hasn't it? Ah, with the beginning of my college career, my hours at work, and the lamentable passing of my laptop, I simply haven't had the time to get back to writing. I had meant to follow up my last story _The Call of the Chickadee_ and I've begun writing it, but this terribly entertaining idea popped into mind and I couldn't help but run with it. I thought of what an interesting idea it might be if I were to take some of our favorite Holmes stories... and rewrite them to fit a high school atmosphere. Yes, yes, I'm sure you've all seen your fair share of generic high school fanfiction, but trust me when I say that I will remain as true to the tales we all know and love while still adding a bit of my own colour to it.

...plus, who could pass up a series title like _Sherlock Holmes: High School Detective_? I plan on making it an ongoing project and I'm crossing my fingers in the hopes that it will turn out well and to your liking.

So, I hope you enjoy it and I would really appreciate constructive criticism and comments very much!

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**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, or any related characters. If you recognize it, chances are it doesn't belong to me. Certain names and places have been pulled and fitted to the convenience of the story, but I forfeit any claim to them. Because, well... they're not mine. I just play with them.

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**Chapter I:** Strange Days at Diogenes Academy

I admit, returning to England was a prospect that left me... frightened. While it was true that I had been born and lived there most of my short life, the last handful of years had been spent elsewhere. My father, a surgeon with the British Army, was prone to being moved about the continent quite readily. After the passing of my mother when I was twelve years of age, he'd decided not to risk being apart from me ever again. And so I bid goodbye to the cramped streets of London and hello to the vast planes of Afghanistan.

For a time, I was happy with my father. I was at his side and able to explore all the interesting things a young boy could wish to explore in such a foreign country. I discovered the uniqueness of the culture, the language, the people, and the terrain. It was all so new and inviting to me. I even had the pleasure of assisting my father with his duties as a surgeon.

Unfortunately, that happiness could not last. One night, as I was asleep in our camp, we were attacked. Our tents and equipment were set fire to, our supplies and weapons pillaged, and our soldiers killed. The number of fatalities was immense... and my father was among their number.

That was six months ago and still the sting has not left.

I now find myself in a coach, rattling on towards a private academy; the Diogenes Academy. Under ordinary circumstances, I'm sure I would never have been able to attend such a prestigious school, but due to my father's loyalty to our country, some exceptions have been made. I can only pray that I manage to make it through the already commenced school term relatively unscathed.

* * *

"John Hamish Watson, is it?" Dean Hudson said, glancing from my file towards my face.

"Y-Yes, sir," I responded, cursing myself inwardly for my stuttering.

"Hmm... It would seem you've been through quite a bit of trauma recently. I'm sorry for your loss. Your father was a good man, if ever there was one," Dean Hudson remarked.

"...you knew my father, sir?" I inquired, curiosity overriding my sense of loss for the moment.

"Of course. Did you suppose it was mere coincidence that you happened to be taken into my academy?" he said with a knowing smile. "Yes, your father was an old friend of mine. I met him when he was about your age, here in this very school. Of course, I was still a young professor myself."

He chuckled warmly and a smiled despite myself, instantly taking a liking to the man. He was an older gentleman with greying brown hair and dark, inquisitive eyes. He looked out over my shoulder, motioning with his hand for someone to come forward, I could help but glance their way, and was met with a look of surprise that must have met my own.

"Watson, is that you?" came the amazed question.

"Stamford! My God, it is you!" I responded.

An old schoolmate and friend of mine, I hadn't seen Stamford since I'd left England.

"Ah-hah. I thought you two boys might know each other. Mr. Stamford,if you would be so kind as to show Mr. Watson around the school and to allow him to choose a room," Dean Hudson said, waving us both out of the room.

The solid oak door had barely clicked shut before we sprang upon each other with a barrage of questions.

"I thought you were never coming back," Stamford admitted, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his school uniform.

"So did I. But...well, circumstances have forced me to," I replied.

"Right. I, ah... I heard. Sorry," Stamford said awkwardly, clearing his throat.

"Thank-you, but there's no reason to apologize. What's done is done," I informed him. "So, ah... How about this school?"

"Eh? Oh, right! Well, first things first. The school campus is divided into four wings: The North Wing, the South Wing, the East Wing, and the West Wing. There are student dormitories in each wing, was well as differing subjects assigned to each location."

"Sounds a bit overwhelming," I said.

"Oh, at first it is. But you get used to it after a while. Now the North is for the Sciences, the south is for the Mathematics, the East is for the Language Arts, and the West is for the Histories. You'll also find various other classes scattered between these. Things that deviate from these four main subjects... but don't worry too much about that now."

My old schoolmate proceeded to give me the grand tour, including the spacious and aesthetically pleasing grounds and the various mediums of after school activities. I found great pleasure in the school's grand rugby team—something I promised to look into as soon as possible. Indeed, the school seemed to have just about every sort of activity, equipment and room for whatever a student could possibly desire. Then at last, it came time for me to choose a room.

"Well, we are rather full up," Stamford said, his face pulling into a concentrated frown as we stood in the main foyer. "Well, Maybe we could fit you in with Lestrade and Gregson... Hum, or maybe Jones and Bradstreet? No, perhaps not..."

As he muttered on to himself, I took the opportunity to look over his shoulder at the grounds map. He wasn't jesting when he said they were tight on space. Every room I could see was occupied by the two students allowed per dormitory. That is, all save one.

"Ah, but what about this one here? 221 B," I pointed out. "It seems there's only one person there."

"This one? Oh... no. I don't think so," Stamford said hurriedly.

"Why ever not?" I prodded, confused.

"The occupant of that room is... I don't suppose you'd get along very well," Stamford answered in a round-about manner.

I squinted at the paper, searching for a name. Ah, there. "Is this Holmes fellow really so awful?"

Stamford sat silent a moment before letting loose a great sigh. "Very well. If you're so insistent, you may as well meet him and decide for yourself."

"That sits well with me," I replied with a short grin.

Really, how awful could one boy be?

* * *

I followed quickly alongside Stamford, my mind a-buzz with thoughts. I admit, my friend's reaction had provoked my curiosity and I was quite eager to see just what this Holmes fellow was like. As we rounded a corner, I was startled by what sounded like a muffled explosion and a tremor that knocked both Stamford and I off our feet.

I blinked rapidly, trying to rise to my feet and could swear I heard an equally muffled "Hah!" from the same direction as the prior noise.

"What... What in the world was that?" I asked.

"_Holmes_," Stamford grunted, once again leading the way.

As we reached the end of a long corridor, I was somewhat horrified to see the glass blown out of the window of one of the doors and smoke pouring out of it. With a reluctant sigh, Stamford twisted the knob and wrenched the door open, ushering me inside. Immediately I was assaulted by the most noxious fumes, sending both Stamford and I straight into a coughing fit.

My friend waved his hands about, attempting to clear the smoke, and waded through the toxic smog in search of a window. I could tell he had found one for a sudden breeze of crisp autumn air began to clear the room.

"Really, Holmes, if you keep this up you'll be expelled!" Stamford said in exasperation.

"Expelled?" a voice snorted. "Hardly. They wouldn't dream of expelling me."

The smoke had finally cleared and before me there now stood a boy of my age. He was taller than I, pale and lanky with a mop of dark hair and a pair of particularly insightful grey eyes. Wearing a lab coat and covered head-to-toe in soot (no doubt from the explosion), he seemed particularly pleased with himself.

"But you must've come here for something else," he said, his eyes wandering to me. "A new student, perhaps?"

"Yes. I just may have found the man mad enough to room with you, if you'd believe it," Stamford replied.

"Really?" Holmes said, his face lighting with sudden interest. "Well, he does look like a particularly interesting fellow. Son of a military man, recently returned from Afghanistan, no doubt. Mm-hmm, yes, seems to be aiming for a career in medicine, bullet-wound in the right leg..."

I stared, slack-jawed. "You... you... Are you some sort of wizard?"

A particularly amused grin flitted across his features, though with the amount of black soot smeared across his face, it made him look a tad more maniacal than he had perhaps intended. Stamford gave a short laugh.

"That would be Holmes's special talent," he informed me.

"It's quite simple. I see a pair of dog tags strapped to your school bag. Based on your tanned skin and the current state of affairs in the world, one could only surmise you'd been in Afghanistan. Also, there is a corner of a medical encyclopedia poking from beneath the flap of your bag. You limped slightly as you came in, favoring your left leg, and the sudden "_bang!_" produced by the explosion seemed to have affected you more than it ought to, thus the bullet wound," Holmes explained as though it were common knowledge.

"Brilliant," I said with a grin. "That's about the most amazing thing I've ever seen."

He smiled sheepishly at the praise, pushing his dark hair from his eyes. He held out his hand.

"Sherlock Holmes," he greeted.

I accepted and shook his hand heartily. "John Watson."

Although a bit strange, to be sure, there didn't seem to be anything off-putting by this Holmes fellow. I couldn't quite understand why Stamford was so reluctant as to allow us to share rooms, but I'd all but made up my mind.

"So, how about it, gentlemen?" Stamford said suddenly.

"I have no problem with it what-so-ever," Holmes replied.

"Nor I," I added.

"Very well, then. As class representative, I authorize this agreement. Welcome to Diogenes Academy, Watson," Stamford said.

Little was I to know that this was only the beginning of a long and strange adventure.

* * *

So... what do you think? -cowers beneath her quilt- It's a bit of a teaser chapter. An _amuse bouche_ of fanfiction, if you will. Let me know if it suits your pallet! I'll be sitting in this corner, trying not to cry over my terrible writing... D:


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